The Information Booth

Yes, on the outside I appear to be your average, thirty-something, eyes glazed-over in a state of constant worry mom. My hair needs a style, my clothes can be thrown in the washing machine and worn again the next day if necessary. I need a pedicure, and new lipstick.

But I posses a power not known to others (at least under this roof).

I have ALL of the information, right here, stuck in my momma brain and if you aren't nice to me, I'm not letting it out.

Take the oldest boy, for example. He thinks it completely normal to burst in the basement door and ask me (2 floors above him) where his brother is. Now, I know for a fact that his brother is in the living room, working on some Lego masterpiece and he can probably hear all this, as the sound travels very well throughout our house. But does my oldest son even attempt to look for himself? No.

He just yells for mom.

Today it was the crayon bucket. "Mom, where is the crayon bucket?" I guess I was the only one capable of leaning around the corner between the kitchen and the dining room and actually seeing (with my own two eyes!) that the crayon bucket was on the table.

My personal favorites always come from my husband though. If he didn't have me, I am sure that he would spend his entire paycheck replacing sunglasses, buying new wallets and visiting the locksmith to have new keys made.

I don't mind being needed. I would probably miss it if suddenly everyone around here was self-sufficient and didn't need me so much. But sometimes, every now and then, I want to say to them, "does it look like I have a sign on my head reading INFORMATION?".